


My heart is just too tired to care; can't destroy what isn't there

by SaunteringVaguelyDownwards (DrowningInStarlight)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Azirphale's bookshop, Crowley (Good Omens) Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInStarlight/pseuds/SaunteringVaguelyDownwards
Summary: It's times like this, late at night, when the world just seems to slip so far away, leaving you in a dark void of meaninglessness. Everything is quiet, but your head is full of chaotic noise, and something just feels wrongwrongwrongwrong-Crowley seeks sanctuary in a certain bookshop we all know and love.





	My heart is just too tired to care; can't destroy what isn't there

**Author's Note:**

> The description of how Crowley is feeling was, for the most part, written when I actually felt like that. In an attempt to make myself feel better, I wrote my feelings down, framed them in fiction and made Crowley and Aziraphale deal with them. I'm sorry, boys. 
> 
>  
> 
> Endless thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating a world I can't stop playing in. 
> 
> Title is from Snuff by Slipknot because that song has a ton of fic potential. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_It's times like this, late at night, when the world just seems to slip so far away, leaving you in a dark void of meaninglessness. Everything is quiet, but your head is full of chaotic noise, and something just feels wrongwrongwrongwrong_

Crowley awoke violently from an uneasy doze, certain he was being attacked. He was out of bed on the floor before he'd even opened his eyes, grasping for the knife he'd taken to keeping by his bedside, holding the handle tight in sweaty palms. He scanned the room frantically. The cold moonlight illuminated the room, silent and empty. It showed him the reflection of his face in the mirror, looking small and scared, so unlike his usual confident smile that it made him start in surprise.  
Nothing moved, and he finally released the breath he'd been holding since awakening, and lowered the knife. 

"There's nothing here," He said out loud, trying to comfort himself. It didn't work, somehow admitting that there could have been something, even if there wasn't, just made things worse. 

His eyes kept darting round, catching shadows. He didn't even know what he was afraid of, but it just felt wrong here, a horrible anxiety inducing _wrong_. Like something terrible had happened but he couldn't quite remember what it was, just the feelings of dread and horror it caused.

He felt sick. The darkness was unbearable, but the light would be so much worse, so he fumbled in the moonlight for his car keys, turned and fled the house. 

The street outside was just as quiet, but the trees rustled in the wind and the stars stretched out like a tapestry above him, and he didn't know if that made him feel better or worse any more. 

He slid into the Bentley and started the engine, not bothering thinking where he was going to go. He knew. The one place that guaranteed him some level of safety, or at least light and a living being. He badly wanted some company just then, from someone who understood what it was like to be the only one of your kind on earth, and there was only one person who could provide that. Only one. 

***

 

The lights were still on in the bookshop. The dusty lace curtains were pulled across, and the light shone though them, making it look cosier than any place Crowley could ever remember seeing. It made him hesitate, hand raised to knock. It seemed like a _home_ in a way his own flat never had. Never would, he thought dully. He didn't know how, nothing he did ever really seemed to work. Maybe it was an angel thing, he didn't know. 

Should he knock? What if Aziraphale was busy? Should he interfere? Sure, he's a demon, that's kind of in the job description, but this is _Aziraphale._ They have an _Arrangement..._

He might have stood out there for hours, staring at the polished wood of the door, if it hadn't sudden opened. Crowley jumped violently, and saw Aziraphale, illuminated by the light behind him. He had a smudge of pencil lead on one cheek, Crowley noticed. That was always a sign that academical pursuits were under way, and he considered excusing himself and leaving, but Aziraphale clearly had no such hesitations. 

"Crowley! Come in, my dear boy, what are you doing here out in the cold? I thought I heard the Bentley, so I thought I would check... Why, you're trembling. Are you okay?" 

Unable to meet the angel's earnest gaze, he looked down at the ground, then up at the sky. "I'm..." 

"Come in," Aziraphale said. "Come in, then tell me what happened."

 

*** 

 

Crowley had a blanket, a hot chocolate, and a suspicion that Aziraphale was trying to spoil him, but no inclination to care.  
There was a fire in the grate, and a huge pile of manuscripts on the solid oak table, and Aziraphale, sitting opposite him with a mug between his hands and a worried expression. 

"You don't have to look at me like that," Crowley said. 

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a human you've got attached too."

"I'm worried about you," He said, and the fact he didn't bother denying it showed he was really distracted. For an angel, Aziraphale certainly had a liking for stubborn, pointless bickering. 

"I'm okay, Aziraphale. I'm okay now."

"Stop it. You turn up here at-" He checked the clock up on the wall- "Quarter past two, shaking like you've seen hell it's self- And don't you dare make a comment about how you have seen hell, blah blah blah, _it's an expression I'm not being literal I just want to make sure you're okay._ "  
He said it all in one breath and looked quite distressed. 

"It's not a big deal, or anything," Crowley said, when the silence had stretched out into an awkward eternity. "I had a nightmare. That's it. I had a nightmare, everything felt weird and I couldn't bear to stay in my own damned _home_ so I came here. I didn't know where else to go." He took a sip of his hot chocolate, suddenly angry at it's deliciousness. 

"Oh, Crowley..."

"Stop pitying me."

"I'm not pitying you!" Aziraphale protested. "Is it better, here? Less... weird? Because I have an empty room, you know. Whenever you feel like it..."

"Thanks. Thank you. I appreciate it, angel. Is there cinnamon in this?" He gestured with his mug, changing the subject but feeling better, almost against his will. It always annoyed him slightly how well Aziraphale knew him, how he somehow managed to say things that made him feel like the world wasn't completely broken. Maybe it was an angel thing, but Crowley thought it was more an _Aziraphale_ thing. The bastard. 

"Yes," Aziraphale said, getting up, and smiling, seeming gently amused. "It seemed appropriate. Cinnamon, sin, demon- something along those lines."

"Well, it's good," Crowley said, choosing not to take Aziraphale up on his dreadful sense of humour right that moment. After all, it had been a long night, and Crowley liked to be at his best when teasing the angel. Aziraphale could be unexpected quick-witted at times. 

He put his head back, and listened to the sounds of Aziraphale washing up the mugs, to the sounds of the fire crackling in the grate.  
He thought idly about passers by, out late on some business or another when they'd rather be at home, who might walk past the glowing windows think _How homely it looks,_ and be struck with a sudden desire to be anywhere but in the cold, dark street. He smiled, with just a hint of the sappy fondness he always denied feeling towards Aziraphale, and closed his eyes. 

 

*** 

 

Five minutes later, Aziraphale re-entered the room and saw Crowley fast asleep, and with a smile on his face that contained more than a _hint_ of sappy fondness, brushed his hair out of his face. 

"Goodnight, my dear," He said softly, then turned towards the table with an expression that might have, in one less angelic, been described as diabolical glee. "Now, let's get back to those manuscripts."

**Author's Note:**

> My sense of humour is terrible but that's okay because I feel Aziraphale's is too. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudos and comments are much appreciated. And a shoutout to all the regular Crowley/Aziraphale readers and writers, I always get a thrill when I see your names in the kudos list on my fics!


End file.
